


Mino'aka *

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:56:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny, shirtless, on a beach, against his better judgment.  (* smile)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mino'aka *

"This," Danny says, "is taking your obsessive need to have me disrobed on the beach just a little, step, a fraction – shall we say, oh, a nudge? Too far." He's wrapping his shirt around Steve's arm, tying it tight to stem the bleeding from the bullet Steve took to the bicep. They're both on their knees in the sand behind Steve's house, beer bottles shattered, a guy from Albania laid out on the lawn. "This, by the way, this wound right here? This, in preventing you from shooting, lifting a beer to your mouth, driving aggressively, jacking off for the next little while, is going to cause you roughly the same amount of aggravation that you cause me _on a daily basis_. Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, the ham-fisted attempt at empathy, but I assure you I would prefer that you not get _shot_ , just so that you can appreciate how regularly I want to _lose my mind_ from _irritation_." He ties off the makeshift tourniquet-cum-bandage and eyes Steve warily. "How's the head wound?"

"Sore," Steve says, steeling himself to pull his own shirt away from the gash above his eye. "I think . . ."

"No, no, no, no, no, no," Danny says, hands pressing, swooping, gesturing. "Do not remove the shirt; the shirt stays right where it is. What are you, first-aid delayed? You skip those classes in boy scouts? Head wounds bleed, they bleed lots, they bleed all over your very fetching white t-shirt that is now ruined, let that be a lesson to you, and they will only bleed _more_ when you remove the shirt from your very stupid, very safety averse head. Let me tell you who will be removing that shirt – medical professionals. Medical professionals with syringes. Medical professionals who have ways of making you stay put."

Steve sighs. "It's a dumb scratch."

"It's dumb, I'll give you that much," Danny says, cupping Steve's jaw, tilting his head as though he's giving serious consideration to checking his pupils. Steve waits, takes stock, logs the shade of Danny's stubble, the pale skin of his chest. Danny sighs, lets his hand drop. "I never had this much trouble when I dated Rachel."

Steve smiles feels the pull of it right up to the cut on his head. "I'm flattered."

"I'm sure you are," Danny says, quiet now, all studied calm since the danger's past and there are paramedics on their way. "Because you are deranged." He drags his thumb along Steve's jaw, leans in and kisses his temple; lingers, lips dry.

"You look good on a beach," Steve offers, swallowing as though that might clear the tightness in his chest. "Without a shirt."

"Without a shirt," Danny repeats, pulling back. "My good shirt. My beautiful, 400 thread-count, Egyptian cotton shirt that my – "

"Daughter bought you, I know," Steve finishes. He reaches out, presses a hand to Danny's chest. "I'll buy you a new one."

"You'll buy me two," Danny offers. "Two, and a beer."

"Only one?"

"I'm easy," Danny says, and his heart's right there, beneath Steve's hand. "Stay alive, brush your teeth, don't get killed, buy a beer . . ."

His head wound throbs, and his arm's started burning, and it's not as though he can stop shooting at people when they start shooting first, but, "Yeah," he says, and he actually means it, and okay, he can handle that, the way that makes Danny smile.


End file.
